Chapter 3: A Symphony of Swearing

Chapter 3: A Symphony of Swearing

The small porcelain cup of express trembled in Léo’s hand, the caffeine doing little to calm the high-frequency thrum of adrenaline in his veins. From his vantage point in the corner of the café, the street outside was a stage, and he was the director, waiting in the wings for the curtain to rise. The midday sun baked the Marseille pavement, making the black Nissan X-trail shimmer like a malevolent beetle.

The blue interface in his vision had confirmed his success, a tidy list of rewards now glowing in his periphery.

[Mission: Operation Annoyance - COMPLETE] [Rewards Processing...] [+10 Karma Points] [[Petty Larceny] Lv. 1 Acquired] [Bonus Rewards Pending Final Outcome...]

He took a sip of the bitter coffee, the taste sharp and grounding. He was a general watching his meticulously planned ambush about to be sprung. Every element was in place: the potato of destiny, the slow hiss of air from a loosened valve, the greasy surprise, the absurdly erect windshield wipers. He had sown the seeds of chaos; now it was time for the harvest.

A few minutes later, she appeared. Sandrine sauntered out of the apartment building’s entrance, a ridiculously small, expensive-looking handbag clutched in her hand. She walked with the unshakeable confidence of someone who had never been told ‘no’ in her life.

The first note in the symphony was struck the moment her eyes fell on her SUV. Her stride faltered. She stopped, head cocked, a look of profound confusion on her face. Léo leaned forward, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his lips. She was looking at the windshield wipers, standing perpendicular to the glass like a bizarre modern art installation.

She approached the car with a scowl, muttering curses that were audible even through the café window. “Putain de merde… some little vandal…”

She reached out to force the wiper blade back down. Her manicured fingers slipped, and she tried again, this time putting her palm flat against the arm to push. It clicked back into place. When she pulled her hand away, she saw it: a thick, black smear of grease staining her skin and the cuff of her white jacket.

Her reaction was instantaneous and glorious.

“FILS DE PUTE!” The shriek was so loud it made a pigeon on the sidewalk take flight. She stared at her sullied hand as if it had been dipped in acid, a torrent of exquisitely vulgar Marseille profanity pouring from her lips. She frantically tried to wipe the grease on the side of her tire, only making it worse.

This commotion began to draw attention. An elderly man walking his poodle paused. A pair of students on a scooter slowed down, curious. The audience was assembling.

Still swearing, Sandrine fumbled for her keys, unlocked the car, and reached for the driver's side door handle. Léo watched, holding his breath. He saw the moment her fingers curled under the handle and made contact with the hidden payload of grease. She recoiled with another yelp, pulling her hand back to reveal a fresh, even larger smudge of black grime.

Her face, already a mask of fury, contorted into something truly mythic. She looked like a Gorgon who had just seen her own reflection. For a moment, she seemed too enraged for words, simply vibrating with pure, unadulterated rage.

Finally, she threw the door open, slammed herself into the driver’s seat, and jammed the key into the ignition. This was the crescendo.

She turned the key.

The engine turned over once, twice, then caught with a strangled, guttural sound. GGRRRR-CHUNK-phut. The entire SUV shuddered violently. A puff of dense, black smoke, thick with the scent of unburnt fuel, belched from the chrome exhaust pipe before the engine died with a pathetic sigh.

She tried again. GGRRR-whump-pfffft. Another shudder, another cloud of black smoke. The powerful, expensive engine was gagging on the humble potato lodged in its throat. It was the automotive equivalent of a heavyweight champion choking on a fish bone.

By now, a small line of cars had formed behind her, unable to exit the garage. The first horn blared—a short, impatient beep. It was answered by another, then a third. The symphony now had a percussion section.

Sandrine hammered her fists on the steering wheel, her face a blotchy, furious red. She got out of the car, leaving the door ajar, and began screaming at the drivers behind her. “IT’S BROKEN, YOU MORONS! CAN’T YOU SEE?! PUSH ME OUT!”

No one moved to help. The old man with the poodle shook his head in disapproval. The students on the scooter were openly laughing.

That’s when the blue and white police car turned the corner. It glided to a stop, its presence immediately changing the atmosphere from a public nuisance to an official incident. Two officers from the Police Nationale got out. One was young, with a barely concealed smirk; the other was older, his face etched with the infinite weariness of a man who had seen every possible permutation of human stupidity.

“Madame,” the older officer said, his voice flat. “You seem to be causing an obstruction.”

“It’s not my fault!” she shrieked, gesturing wildly with her greasy hands. “This piece of junk just died! Some little bastard vandalized it!”

The young officer walked around the vehicle, taking in the scene. He saw the single upright wiper she had missed, then knelt to inspect the exhaust. Léo couldn’t hear what he said, but he saw the officer stand up, turn his head to hide a laugh, and say something to his partner.

The older officer sighed. “Vandalism or not, you’re blocking the road. We’ve called a tow truck. It will be here in five minutes.”

The arrival of the massive tow truck was the final, humiliating nail in her coffin. The operator, a burly man with a cigarette dangling from his lips, went about his work with practiced indifference, ignoring Sandrine’s constant, shrill stream of complaints and threats.

As the operator began hooking the chains to the front axle of the Nissan, a new message popped onto Léo’s screen.

[The universe appreciates a grand finale. Would you like to activate a Final Flourish? Cost: 2 Karma Points.]

Léo’s grin was positively feral. He focused on the affirmative, pouring all his satisfaction and schadenfreude into the thought. Yes. Absolutely, yes.

[Activating: Musique de la Honte (Music of Shame)]

The moment the tow truck’s winch began to tighten, the interior lights of the Nissan X-trail flickered on. And then, at maximum possible volume, the SUV’s high-end speaker system erupted with the infectious, ridiculously cheerful synth-pop of “Dragostea Din Tei.”

“Ma-ia-hii, Ma-ia-huu, Ma-ia-hoo, Ma-ia-haa…”

The absurdly upbeat, cheesy Eurodance anthem blasted out of the car, echoing off the surrounding buildings. Every head on the street snapped towards the source. Sandrine froze mid-rant, her jaw slack with disbelief. The tow truck operator paused. Even the weary old cop cracked a smile.

The SUV, symbol of her arrogant pride, was being dragged ignominiously from the road while serenading the entire neighborhood with the “Numa Numa” song. It was a public spectacle of such profound, comedic humiliation that it bordered on performance art.

Sandrine let out a final, strangled scream of pure psychic agony as her car was hoisted and towed away, its cheerful, idiotic music slowly fading down the street. She was left alone on the curb, covered in grease, defeated, and utterly ridiculous.

Léo leaned back in his chair, the coffee cup now empty. He felt a deep, clean sense of satisfaction settle in his chest. It was better than getting a perfect grade. The blue screen in his vision updated with his final tally.

[Final Outcome Assessed. Karmic Payback Delivered.] [Bonus Rewards Granted: +15 Karma Points, +1 Agility.] [Total Mission Rewards: +23 Karma Points (Net +21), [Petty Larceny] Lv. 1, +1 Agility.] [New Item in Inventory: [Lucky Coin]. A single coin that can slightly alter probability in your favor. One-time use.]

As he read the last line, a strange lightness suffused his limbs. He felt sharper, more alert, as if the world had come into slightly clearer focus. The +1 Agility. It was real.

He stood up, leaving a few coins for the coffee on the table. He glanced at the café's clock. 9:47 AM. He was catastrophically late. Professor Moreau would be waiting.

But as he walked towards the university, the familiar dread was gone. In its place was a cold, clear calm. Before, he was a victim on his way to an execution. Now, he was a player heading into a new level, and he had just discovered the cheat codes.